


The Lemons of the 70’s

by MicharkWaltGeorge



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom
Genre: 70s, Blowjobs, F/M, Gay Sex, M/M, Slow Burn, Smut, handjobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2020-04-07 10:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19082815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MicharkWaltGeorge/pseuds/MicharkWaltGeorge
Summary: The 70's weren't just a time of hard drugs and glazed over eyes. It was withdrawal and watching the people you love wither away. Louis Tomlinson is a deeply closeted gay man dealing with internalized homophobia and arising feelings for a charming boy by the name, Harry Styles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing something and actually planning on finishing it. tell me if you see any mistakes in spelling or grammar. i hope you enjoy this and please leave comments telling me what you would like for me to do and what you think will happen through the story.
> 
> \- Michael

The clock is too damn loud. Its hands are taunting me; telling me that I'm not doing anything worth a moment of breath. I'm wasting my damn time with problems that aren't mine.

Brendon sits across from me with bags under his eyes and I think I would feel bad for him if he wasn't so obnoxious. He takes a long drag from the cigarette between his lips. His hands begin to tremble as he starts to reach across the coffee table to grab his glass of scotch. Through all my years of knowing him, I can safely say that he doesn't know how to take care of himself.

I'm staring at him, trying to understand his choked voice, as he goes on about the way he found out that his friend was queer.  

"I found him outside some club," his voice was low, and his face was hidden by new wrinkles. "He had some dude all over him and I thought maybe it wasn't really him." his words were muffled by the air leaving his mouth, "I thought, 'Stan would never be like that'." 

I have to say something. I don't want to leave the poor bastard with only the clock ticking as a reply.  

"Did you try to talk to him about it?" 

"I don't want to talk to him!" his eyebrows shoot up and his knuckles begin turning white around the glass. "How can you even ask me that?"  

Just like that, my one and only idea is shot down. What am I supposed to say? What does he want me to do? I've never been in this situation and even if my buddy liked guys, I think I would just ignore it the best I can. 

"What if he wants me?"  

I almost don't hear him, but I catch his words and I nearly laugh. Jesus—I don't know what to do.

He's shaking now, his leg bouncing up and down and I can see his question finally hitting him. 

"If he wanted you," I'm about to say more but the words die in my throat. "I don't know what to say." my voice sounds pitying even to my own ears. I want to tell him that everything will be fine, but he won't believe me. 

Everything stays quiet for minute before Brendon moves to leave. Huffing from his nose as his joints crack. I'm looking into his eyes, but he isn't looking back; the lights are on but nobodies' home.  

He leaves through the front door without even a glance back. The air that fills the room shudders when he slams the door. 

I can picture his boots slapping the pavement while he walks to his blue truck. He's had the same truck for nearly 15 years and refuses to buy a new one. He's as stubborn as an ass. 

The room smells like smoke and I feel like I should go and tell Brendon to come back but I'm not going to. 

I stay seated on the couch while I focus on the way my fingers start to feel numb. Tingling running through my hands. The sun is peeking through the window and painting the room a golden orange, my toes rubbing against the carpet. 

Niall would know what to do, his shift at The Sprinkler should end in about 30 minutes. I don't know how he got a job there as a bartender, he can't mix a drink for shit. He'd probably make Brendon something strong if he were here. He would give him a big smile and play the entire situation off as a joke. His solution would be distracting Brendon. 

My solution is to ignore the problem, which is why I'm grabbing my wallet, putting my shoes on and grabbing my keys while walking through the front door.  

I'm going to The Sprinkler and I'm going to drink because that's what I do best.

The cars driving past me have no idea that someone's world is crumbling this very minute. The breeze tickles my cheeks and the people walking beside me take quick steps, hurrying to get back to their busy lives. I'm nearly where I want to be. A trashy bar full of trashy people, my type of people. 

Two swinging doors with peeling black paint are right in front of me and I can hear the joyful shouts of drunk people from inside. I can already feel the air from the bar sticking to my skin while tobacco fills my nose.  

My feet move on their own and my body immediately loosens up at the sight of Niall, pouring some poor bloke a shot of something light brown. The bar is sticky, but I don't mind. 

Without even looking up, Niall starts talking to me.  

"What happened, Louis?" His voice doesn't show concern rather than curiosity and I don't know how I feel about the lack of empathy. 

"Nothing? Can't I just have a drink with my friend?"  

He's looking at me now with his brows pinched and his mouth hanging open slightly. He's looking at me like I'm an idiot. 

"It's nearly noon. No one in this place before four o'clock is happy." 

I want to tell him that's bullshit but the guy Niall was pouring the shot for looks like he might be contemplating suicide, so I bite my tongue. 

Niall and I used to have much smoother conversations; our speech didn't sound so forced but over the years, we just started to drift apart. 

"I'll have you know, I'm absolutely miserable but nothing happened." my faux smile is strained but Niall chuckles at my dark humor, nonetheless. 

Niall is a friendly looking person. His features are soft besides his pointed nose. That's probably how he got a job as a bartender; people like him. He's approachable. 

He hands me a bottle of beer and leaves to talk to a woman in a tight skirt with mascara and eyeliner running down her face. Niall was right, No one in this place before four o'clock is happy.

🍋🍋🍋

I've been nursing my third beer while waiting for Niall's shift to end. I can tell that he wants to go home, his hair is a mess and stains are covering his shirt.  

A young woman has made herself comfortable on the barstool next to me. Her hair is flat and smooth while resting on her shoulders. She told me her name was Eleanor. Eleanor has been telling me jokes for fifteen minutes. Her jokes are hilarious and not repetitive or overused and definitely not mildly awful. 

If she wasn't so annoying, I'd find her attractive. She has long legs and big doe eyes that carry her smile. She really is pretty. 

Niall is tapping me on the shoulder after Eleanor leaves to go flirt with a bearded man sitting in the corner by himself.  

"I can see you met Eleanor," his voice is airy, and he sighs as he continues, "she's a piece of work." 

I can't tell if he's impressed or disappointed in her. Maybe both. The two are not mutually exclusive. 

"Does she come here often?"  

I'm getting up from my bar stool when Niall slaps my arm with a light chuckle.  

"This is her second home." his lips quirk up, "if she's not in some dudes' house, she's here." 

I give her a quick glance before leaving with Niall. The sky is considerably darker than when I entered the bar. You can't see stars, but you can see the moon and how it's trying to make its way up into the sky.   
Niall had to stay longer than intended due to the bartender that was supposed to replace him being too hungover to come in. 

There are still people on the sidewalk and cars driving on the road. While I'm staring at ground in front of me, Niall's looking at me. I can tell that he wants to say something. He probably wants to tell me how I look shit and that I need to get out to do more than drink and fuck. 

If that's what he wants to say, he should keep his damn mouth shut. 

Maybe he somehow heard my thoughts because now he's looking at the ground in front of him, just like I'm doing. The atmosphere feels heavier than it should and that could be because I'm empathetic and I still feel bad about Brendon's ex-friend. 

Niall starts clearing his throat and wringing his hands while he slows his pace, "Do you know what's wrong with Stan?" 

Stan. Stan? Why is that name familiar? 

I guess Niall can see the confusion on my face because he goes on. "Brendon's friend? That one guy that carried you home from your aunt's funeral. You were too drunk to do anything. ring any bells?" 

Oh. 

What am I supposed to tell him, 'yeah, Stan likes dick and that's not too groovy'? How does someone even bring something like that up in a normal conversation?

the silence before I answer is probably enough for him to know that I'm lying when I say, "No, what makes you think something's wrong?"

He's reaching into his back pocket, grabbing a crumpled-up pack of cigarettes and he knows me so well; he's pulling one out and holds it towards me. Beautiful Irish bastard. I grab it from him with a nod. I can't remember when I started smoking but I've been smoking long enough for it to feel like second nature. 

Niall didn't start smoking until he met me in '66. I watched him have his first smoke and he coughed until his eyes started to water and his voice was raw -- I almost felt bad for laughing. 

"You're a shit liar," He lights his own cigarette before continuing, "just so you know."  

Is that supposed to offend me?  

"shut your damn mouth," it leaves my smiling lips, but it's said with complete seriousness, "I'm not lying."  

He hums in response and the conversation dies down into light chatter about the stray cats that roam the streets. 

"This black and white cat keeps coming by the house and her name is now Purl and she is my best friend and I would die for her." Niall is smiling and I can tell that he's thinking about the cat.

for some reason, he really likes animals. Niall just has this deep love for almost everything that isn't a human. Honestly, it's a little weird. He brought a baby bird home when we first moved in, in '68 and the little thing wouldn't leave his side for a solid month.

"I believe you," I'm thinking about the cat and Niall taking care of it while looking like an old women and I can't help the way my body shakes when I laugh, "and I wish I didn't."

He goes on about the cat until we're at our front door. We both stay silent because the only thing on our minds now is food. Neither of us wants to think about how we're going to go to bed hungry. We know the kitchen is empty.  
Usually, Niall or I bring leftovers from work but today was different. Today I didn't go to work and Niall never got a chance to go the backroom and steal something to eat.

I walk to my room without looking back at Niall. I know he's heading to his room, I can hear the floor creak whenever he takes a step.  
My room looks like shit. The sheets smell like sex and sweat and I can't remember the name of the girl who was here yesterday. I think it was Jude. Her hands were quick to take my pants off, just like my hands are now.

The pillow is soft and the room is nearly silent besides the sounds of the house. These sheets remind me of evergreen trees and I remember when mom gave them to me as a moving away present. 

I pull the sheets up to my chin and my skin against the blanket is smooth. 

this isn't bad. No, I'm fine.


	2. Do You Smoke?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's me again! This is the second chapter and i really hope you like it! please leave a comment if there's a mistake and tell me what you think.
> 
> -Michael

It's 3 a.m. and I should be asleep but waking up at ungodly hours of the day is a specialty of mine. 

While I shuffle out of bed, I can hear crickets outside. The world around me is asleep besides a few bugs and myself. My shirt is slightly sticky due to my sweat. Why do people perspire so much while they sleep? 

The floor feels cold on my feet and a shiver runs up my spine. The way it chills my whole body is almost nice. Almost. My skin is sticky and cold now. 

The floor squeaks while I walk through my bedroom door and my mouth starts to water at the thought of coffee. There should be some in the kitchen – Niall restocked it two days ago. 

I try not to make any noise as I move about our small kitchen. Niall hates waking up to the sound of me rummaging through the cabinets and I can't really blame him. The first time I woke him up, he threatened to murder me and feed my organs to the homeless that sit outside the bar. When I saw him later that day, he didn't have any memory of saying that to me or of me even waking him up. 

He has some weird quirks, but I guarantee that I have some too. 

My quirks are probably a bit less violent in comparison to Niall's. 

My fingers brush against a canister filled with coffee grounds and my mouth goes numb. I love coffee. I pour some of the canisters' contents into the coffeemaker. The coffeemaker sounds of small turning gears while the water pushes through it and into a coffee mug. Strong smelling and bitter black coffee fills my cup. We don't have any milk but just some sugar will add some amount of sweetness. 

The smell fills my nose while I take a sip and stare out of the kitchen window. I can see the tree in the backyard that Niall throws darts at when he gets drunk. Why do people let him drink? My cheeks are hurting from thinking about Drunk-Niall. My smile isn't very big but it's bright when I think about good memories. When I think about the good times I had as a kid or when my friends do something that I'll never forget. 

Contrary to popular belief, I have more friends than just Niall. I'm friends with Perrie, whom I met at work and makes my stomach hurt from laughing so hard. She's probably why I applied; I saw her working with people when I was first job hunting and she just looked so happy to help others. When I say, 'help people', I make it sound like we do something life changing when we just bring people their food. That's right, I'm a waiter. A dirty, cheap, broke waiter who can't afford to buy food. 

My shift doesn't start until noon and it's a fifteen-minute walk from The Sprinkler. While still thinking about the tree, I can see the birds that live on the roof flying to the ground. Their beaks peck at the grass for bugs. Just like me, the birds are early risers. 

Sipping from my mug, I turn around and head for my room and put on a vinyl that fills the air with soft music. My coffee is cold when I go for the next sip, but I don't mind. It soothes my tongue from when it was too hot for me to drink. 

The curtains cover my windows and the light is dampened because of it. It's almost five and I can tell that the sun is coming up due to the room becoming brighter. I go and sit at my desk, across the room from my bed and just right under the covered window. It's probably childish to be an adult with a desk in his room but it's my life. It's not a nice desk either, it's falling apart. The paint on the legs is chipping and the second drawer down doesn't open. 

A lot of the things in my room aren't particularly nice but they're my things and I love them for that. 

My pack of cigarettes are lying on the desk next to a photo of my sisters. Four laughing girls cover the photograph and I can't help but smile. What an odd family we are. 

The way my back cracks when I sit makes me and the desk chair groan in unison. I have old bones, I guess. 

The cigarette filter fits snuggly between my lips while I look around the desk for a lighter. I find what I'm looking for under a year-old job resume that I never turned in. Turns out, I didn't need the resume because I got a different job a couple of days later. The flame ignites the end of my cigarette and I inhale, letting the smoke fill my lungs. My body starts to relax as the ash falls to the carpeted floor. I'll just vacuum my room later. Another inhale and my head feels light. 

a feeling of calm washes over me and I let it. Once my cigarette is nothing but a bud, I squash it into the desks hard surface. My bed looks rather inviting now. The soft blankets are discarded from the mattress and the pillow is matted down from the ghost of my head. 

While making my way over, I trip on some stray laundry that's been there for over a month. I really need to do my washing up. 

My head meets the matted down pillow and sleep is immediate. 

🍋 🍋 🍋 

It's 11:30 now and I'm going to run into a wall if I'm late for work. I will literally run into a wall, so I have an excuse as to why I came in late and I'll say I was jumped or something. Maybe I'll ask Niall to punch me if he's awake. I know he would do it without a question. At most, he'd give me a weird look; his brows would be pinched, and his mouth would be agape, but he'd do it. 

I'm damn near running around my room looking for a white button up shirt that doesn't have a stain on it. I don't even know what some of the stains are and that scares me a little bit. I probably should do my laundry. I'll do it later. 

The shirt I'm wearing has red spot at the bottom and yellow discoloring under the arms. I can cover up the red spot by shoving the end of the shirt into my pants and I'll just try not to lift my arms. 

While pulling on some black slacks, my door swings open. 

"I swear to God, if you're late again, I'll break your fucking nose." Niall has a playful smile resting on his lips despite his threat. He's playing with the end of his sweater while looking at me. 

"Jesus-- if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're my damn boss." I'd smile but I'm too busy looking for the rest of my uniform. "the fuck are my shoes at!"

"By the front door, dumbass." 

Friends are the best. 

I shove my way past him and find my shoes. It's 11:43 A.M. and I can make it on time if I run and disregard the crossing signals. 

While pulling my shoes on, Niall throws my pack of cigarettes and my wallet at me and lets me leave with a smile on my face and a fag in my mouth. This has become our daily routine and I can't say I mind; I enjoy having him keep me in place. 

The walk isn't entirely cold, but it is windy. Niall should've thrown me a damn jacket. I'm by the bus stop when I see Liam. He works with me and I'd call him a friend. He has sharp eyes and plush lips. His lips look soft for a man. His hair lays on his sweat covered forehead in curls. He ran here, just like me. I can tell by the way he's panting for air. 

He gives me a little wave before speaking, "Hey," he leans forward and rests his hands on his knees, "How are you?" Each word ends with him panting and wheezing. How out of shape can one man be? 

"Are- are you going to be okay?" My hands fly in front of me and I'm pointing at Liam. He looks like he might be sick and if he throws up, I'll throw up and that's just disgusting. 

"I'm fine! Everything is good. I'm alright." He says, trying to talk himself into believing what he's saying. 

"Sure you are," I spit out a laugh and watch as his body visibly relaxes. 

"You're going to be late again, aren't you?" he has a smile playing on his lips and he knows my attendance for work is sore subject. He thinks he's so funny. Little shit. 

My lips quirk up as I walk closer to him, "You're late too, Payne." 

His smile falters but only for a second. He's never been later for work. Well, not as late as me. He once came in shit-faced but still on time. 

I don't know how he does it. I don't know how anyone can do it. Just get up and not want to go back to the depths of sleep? I don't think so. 

"let's not talk about my failures!" he shouts happily while patting my shoulder. "Do you know anything about the new guy at work?" 

I lightly slap my cheek. "I didn't even know we had a new guy at work." I say simply. 

His laugh is obnoxious and loud, but I feel like everyone has a laugh like that. "That's because you always come in after morning announcements," He points out. "The fact that you haven't been fired, tells me who Simon favors." His tone is light, but the words carry truth. 

Simon doesn't actually work with us; he works in management and he's really good at talking problems away. I don't know how he does it, but it freaks me out. Simon isn't my friend, but he's managed to help me keep my job. So, in the end, I don't hate him. 

"He likes me because the people like me!" I continue with an amount of theatrics that is more than necessary, "Give the people what they want!" I'm moving my hands around me in fast, excited motions. 

Just then, the bus pulls up. We both carryon our conversation while entering the bus. 

To keep the conversation going, I tell him about how my friend found out he was hanging out with a queer man. His eyes bulge from his head as he goes slack-jaw. 

"How can someone do that with another dude when there are so many willing chicks?" He stares at me with utter confusion plastered on his face. "I mean, fuck whoever you want!" He throws his hands up in mock surrender. "I just don't get why you'd like fucking a dude." 

"I don't get it either. Why would I fuck another man when there's a lovely lady waiting to get on her hands and knees for me." I'm looking in his eyes and I can tell he understands what I mean. 

"let's stop talking about this before someone overhears us." His tone is playful, and I know he thinks it's funny, that another guy wants to suck dick. 

The bus slows to a stop and Liam and I get up to leave. While walking through the isle, I trip over something blocking the way and fall flat on my face. I look back to see a man with his foot sticking out and a grimace on his lips. 

"Oops, sorry. It was an accident." His voice is deep. Really deep. And a bit mocking. His voice kind of reminds me of a lion; rough, deep and full of potential to sound like thunder. 

I've been staring too long but I can't stop due to shock. His lips are pronounced, and his cupids bow dips low. He has such a strong jawline. Good for him. 

"Hi-- it's fine." I manage while I pull myself up and watch as the man that tripped me goes to stand as well. He's much taller than I am. He reminds me of a twig with how long and lanky he is. 

I leave the bus with the man behind me and liam in front of me, asking if I'm alright. Once we're near The Broken Record – the restaurant that Liam and I work at -- I realize that the man is still following us. I just give him a quick glance over my shoulder but it's enough for him to throw me a small smirk. Facing forward, I decide to keep my eyes on the sidewalk. 

The Broken Record is in view and we're almost there. I don't know if the man is still behind me and I'm too embarrassed to look. 

Liam is laughing at something he said when we enter through the side doors. I finally look behind me and see the man isn't there anymore. I sigh in relief and walk over to check-in. While stamping my punch card, Liam taps my shoulder and quickly points towards the front, where we can see out of the kitchen and into the eating area. And there stands the man that tripped me. He's wearing a white button-up and black slacks. It hits me; he's probably the new waiter. 

"Maybe you can go say, 'Hi'?" his voice is curious and light. "He seems bitter – like you." he quickly adds the last part and I'm mildly insulted. 

"Do you know who has to train him?" and, as if on cue, Zayn calls my name. 

"Louis, you're late." 

Out of habit, I shoot back with, "No shit – a blind man could've told you that." 

His glare is more from dealing with me always being like this rather than actually being upset with me. He pulls his hand up to his face with a tired groan. 

"We have a trainee." he takes a deep breath. "Will you please show him the ropes-- I would make someone else do it, but everyone else is busy with work." 

I have work too! What? Does he think I don't do anything when I get here? 

I walk over to him with confident strides. "Don't you think I have work to do?" 

"You came in late and you're not doing anything; go help him." it's more of a command rather than a question and I know that I should just do what I' told. 

"fine." I'm about to make my way to leave for the swinging kitchen door when Zyan calls my name to say, "He's in the dining area. Don't be mean." 

The doors make a swoosh as they swing when I walk through them.  

HIs eyes lock with mine as I make my way over to him, "hey, you must be the trainee? Well, I'm going to show you what to do here!" 

He nearly interrupts me when he asks, "Do you smoke?" in a deep, rough voice.


	3. Curly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! if you like what you're reading, then don't forget to vote for it! please comment if there are any typos or errors. thank you for reading!
> 
> \- Michael G.

I just reach into my pocket and grab for what he clearly wants and what I need. Before I can light up, Liam walks through the same swinging doors I had and waves at the trainee.

"Don't be scared of Louis," Before I can interject and tell him he should be terrified of me, Liam goes on. "He's all bark and no bite." Liam gives me a quick look over before his eyes land on my unlit cigarette.

"If you get ash on the carpet, you're on cleaning duty." I don't mean to scoff, but I do. I'm not going to clean the entire eating area if I spill some ash; people leave stubbed cigarette buds on the floor all the time—a bit of ash won't hurt this place.

The trainee is holding his cigarette with his thumb and pointer finger –like a teenager— when he slips the filter between is pink lips. His bottom lip looks like it's been gnawed on all day due to how cherry red it is. I probably wouldn't have noticed his lips if not for the fact that he's pushing into my personal space, waiting for me to light up his fag.

I pull out my lighter as fast as I can, not because the lack of personal space is making me uncomfortable but because it's not.

He pulls away, leaving a cloud of smoke in his path. He speaks around the cigarette that slightly muffles his words. "What are you supposed to teach me anyway, Louis?" He puts emphasis on the 'i' in my name.

"ya'know, just how to stay calm when guests are dicks." He laughs at that and I can't really understand why.

"Well, aren't you just an abrasive talker." He said it more like a statement rather than a question. I've been told I can be rude and that I don't have a verbal filter so I'm not too shocked that he thinks so too.

I just don't understand it; not being able to say things to a persons' face that you would say behind their back.

"So I've heard." I clap my hands together, "So, just remember that the customer is always right and you're always wrong."

"What if I'm right?" is that supposed to be an actual question? I just told him that the customer is always right. How do you not get that?

"You're wrong." I shrug my shoulders and throw on an easy smile.

He walks a bit closer to me while running his fingers through his hair. Thick, curly brown hair. "I don't know if I agree with that."

I turn around and walk towards the kitchen with an unlit cigarette between my first two fingers. The way I shout back probably surprises some of the other waiters getting ready to start a shift.

"Neither do I, Curly. Neither do I." I'll figure out his actual name later, but until then his name is curly. I push through the doors and make my way over to the apron rack and look for the one that's unofficially mine; it became mine due to the cigarette burns I accidently marked with it.

"Did you already train him?" Zayn's voice shocks and as a reflex, I nearly punch him. He's right behind me; head popping over my shoulder.

"Goddamnit! Don't scare me like that, you asshole." my voice raises an octave higher but I can't find it in myself to be embarrassed.

Why does Zyan always do stuff like this? I don't even think he tries to scare the shit out of me but he's just so quiet until he opens his mouth.

"Did you finish training him?" He asks again. One track mind; doesn't even care that he almost killed me.

"Yeah. If that's all, piss off." I sound more pissed off than I actually am. That's something I've been good at; seeming angry when I'm not.

He holds his hands up in defeat and backs away from me with a wry smile resting on his lips.

"no need to lose your head." If I didn't know any better, I'd say Zyan needs to update his lingo.

He turns and in less than a moment, he's gone through the swinging doors. It's probably odd to notice the way his hair jumps whenever he takes a step. I can't help the way my eyes follow Zyan and his bouncing hair.

My shoes squeak when I walk away from the swinging doors. Perrie should show up any moment now. She'll probably be more help than me in training, Curly. She'll actually show him the ropes and tell him how to deal with customers.

Perrie trained me when I first started working here. The same day she met me was the first day she called me a smartass. I still don't know how she didn't knock me on my ass with how much talking back I did; I was giving her shit for being the only person I know who doesn't smoke and just a general nuisance.

I see Liam by the sink talking with Ellen. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun and her mascara is clumped on her eyelashes. She still manages to be cute despite her tired appearance; her cheeks are tinted pink and her eyes are squinted from smiling at something Liam said.

"Where's Perrie?" I'm not directing my question to anyone, but I am right next to Ellen and Liam so it should be a given that one of them answer.

When Liam looks at me, he has a small smirk playing on his lips. "You can't just throw your workload on her."

I'm not throwing my damn workload on her. I'm doing my work.

"Alright, you asshat, I'm doing my work. I just need her to properly train Curly." It comes out more exasperated than intended.

"Training him was your job and who the hell is Curly, are you and the Trainee on nickname basis?" He looks like he may laugh and if he does, I'll spit on his shoes.

I throw my arms up and raise my voice to say, "Just tell me when Perrie is supposed to get here, Payne!"

He smirks at me and I want to slap that damn look off his face.

"Her bus doesn't come for another fifteen minutes," he proceeds to chuckle while Ellen politely stifles her laughter in her hand. "Calm the fuck down."

I don't say anything else as I walk away from the two giggling backstabbers.

While I'm walking away, Curly runs into me. Literally, runs into me. Well, he doesn't run into me, but he does walk into me.

"Watch it, Curly." My tone is more teasing than threatening.

"Y'know, I have a name, right?" his eyebrow raises and the corner of his lips quirk up. Soft looking lips. I bet girls are jealous of him for having lips like that.

"Of course, I know you have a name!" He stares at me, slightly shocked that I might know his name without him having to tell me but jokes on him. "It's Curly!"

The surprised look on his face morphs into one of humor and he laughs.

I love making people laugh. I love making people who laugh with their entire body laugh; I just feel proud of myself when someone holds their stomach or throws their head back. It just means that I made their day better.

"My name's Harry." his voice is soft and full of fondness while he stares at me.

"what's that? I couldn't hear what you said, Curly."

I'm going to have fun with him.


	4. chapter 4

Perrie showed up late with her hair in disarray and smudged eyeliner. She reminds me of a racoon with the circles around her eyes. 

“Holy hell, are you okay?” Liam is the first to indirectly bring up how shitty she looks. 

“Fuck off, Payne.” before Liam’s eyes can go any wider, she goes on. “If I wanted someone to tell me how shitty I look, I would read those fashion magazines at the supermarket.” 

I probably shouldn’t laugh but damn, am I good at doing things that I'm not supposed to do. 

Perrie looks at me with a friendly scowl and I can tell she’s trying not to smile. Just as her lips start to turn up, Curly walks through the swinging doors and waves at me before heading to the sink and talking with Zayn. 

Perrie’s eyes are resting on him. “Who’s that nice young man and why was he waving at,” she points at my chest, “the devil himself?” 

Firstly, rude. Secondly, ouch. 

“Why does everyone talk about me like I'm not right here?!” Perrie laughs at me. Screw her. I love her but screw her. 

Since he hasn’t pissed me off yet, I walk towards Curly. His hair is resting on his shoulders in light ringlets. Curly brings his hands to his head, running his fingers through his hair. Such soft looking hair. I wonder if girls like pulling on it when he screws them. 

“How are you, Curly?” A light question to start light conversation. 

“From the sounds of it, better than you.” He smiles and small dimples show up on his cheeks. “Do they often pick on you?” 

I swear to all that is holy, if he starts giving me shit, I'm kicking him in the knee. 

“Actually, no.” His brows raise and a smirk is fighting through his lips. “It’s usually picking on them; they just want to seem cool in front of the new guy.” 

I forget about Zayn and how he’s just watching us go about our conversation, unintentionally ignoring him. 

“You’re cute, Y’know that?” Am I blushing? Who the fuck says that to another guy? 

“Be careful with who you say that to; they might think you’re a fairy!” Laughing is always a safe bet. 

He frowns and his brows pinch together. “Why is that a bad thing?” Why? The list is pretty long; should I tell him how he might get shot? 

“Nothing’s wrong with being a fairy. I might not get it and it’s a bit weird, but it doesn’t matter; more chicks for me.” He’s smiling, like he should be. “But you should be careful because some people don’t take too lightly to that sort of thing.” 

This conversation isn’t as light as I was hoping. 

He gives me a single nod and goes back to talking to Zyan without giving me a second glance. I feel like I deserve more than that as a parting, right? Maybe a ‘goodbye’ or a wave. Maybe even a small smile. 

I go back to work since it’s clear that I'm not needed here. 

I go over to a table where a big burly man with a well-trimmed beard sits. He’s in tattered clothes that make me grimace. 

“I’m Louis and I'll be your waiter today,” I pull a menu from my apron and gently place it in front of the burly man, “Here’s your menu.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Are there any drinks you’d like to start off with?” 

“I would like a black coffee and that’s it.” 

While writing down his order, I here another table behind me talking and I can hear Curly laughing at something they said. He seems to be doing just fine without anyone helping him. He’s a grown man; he doesn’t need me or Perrie to help him. 

While Curly keeps on laughing, I walk towards the swinging doors to grab a pot of coffee. 

“How old is this?” I say, pointing at the cold pot of black water. 

I hear Ellen shout from the back, “It’s only a couple hours old—just nuke it.” 

I pour the pots contents into a nearby coffee mug and place the mug into the microwave. I can hear the coffee starting to sizzle and bubble but there’s only a few seconds left on the microwave timer so I leave it in. When the coffee is done, I take it out to the man and watch as he takes his first sip. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you sir?” my voice is forcibly softer than usual and it’s killing my throat. 

“No, I’m fine. Could you get me the check?” 

“Of course. I’ll have that right out for you.” 

I walk back through the swinging doors and am met with Zyan on floor in a puddle of chicken noodle soup. 

“I need the check for table five.” 

“Ask Ellen; she knows where they all are.” 

I step over Zyan and the puddle while walking further into the kitchen to find Ellen. The floor of the kitchen is covered in a thin layer of grime and dirt from the outside world and it’s more noticeable when I see Ellen mopping a small section of the kitchen; you can actually see how dirty the floor is compared to the area that she mopped. 

“Ellen, my friend, I need the check for table five.” 

“It’s by the serving window, hon.” before I can leave, she holds up her hand, “Why don’t you ever use that serving window anyway?” 

The truth is, It gives me more time away from the customers when I come into the kitchen myself. I don’t really like being around the people that come here, they bum me out and they always expect me to know what they want when they haven’t told me a damn thing. 

“I don’t know. I just prefer it, I guess.” 

And with that, I walk back through the swinging doors but not before going to the serving window and grabbing the man's check.


	5. chapter 5

The man left after paying and I was left to listen to the table Curly was serving. They absolutely loved him; the ladies seated at that table were laughing and flirting and the men were laughing and joking with him. Lucky bastard. Why couldn't I get a table like that?

We're not very busy today, or any day for that matter, and the quiet that fills the diner is calming. I look around and see Liam talking to a bald man that's sitting at the diner counter. He looks rough; the dark circles under his eye contrasting with his pale white skin.

While walking back towards the kitchen I notice the girl from the bar sitting at a booth with her hair in knots. She gives me a smile and a small wave. I don't think she remembers me; she was probably too drunk. 

I notice how young she looks in this light and I can see the red spots that rest on the bridge of her nose like freckles on a ginger. Besides those spots on her nose, her skin looks soft to the touch. 

"Has someone already taken your order, Hon?" I don't know why I call women hon; I started doing it as a joke to make fun of Perrie for doing it but after a while it just became habit. 

She lightly shakes her head and I pull my notepad from my apron pocket. 

"What can I get for ya', Hon?" her lips look soft just like her skin. Her smile is small, but it looks so real. Maybe she's smiling because I called her 'Hon'? Women used to think I was flirting with them when I called them that.

"A cup of coffee is fine, thank you." such a soft voice. I never got to hear her real voice at the bar; I heard her drunk voice – a slurred mess of thoughts. 

I quickly write down her order before she can ask for more. From the corner of my eye, i can see Curly. He's standing straight with his hip slightly jutted out, his lip drawn between his teeth. Before I know it, I'm staring; my body slowly turning towards him.

I stare at his lips; the way his bottom lip fits snuggly between his teeth while his top lip slightly glistens.

I stare at him and his lips until I'm pulled back to reality by Curly giving me a weird look – furrowed brows, pinched lips and questioning eyes.

Fuck.

I've just been caught staring, haven't I?

I feel heat creep up my neck and around my face like a shadow creeping in the sun. I'm not looking at him anymore, but I can tell that Curly is smiling. I can picture him. His dimples making an appearance and his eyes sparkling. With his long hair and bright smile; Hippie bastard.

The rest of work goes by being pretty uneventful. Curly keeps looking at me and so does Zyan. I don't know why Curly is looking at me but Zyan has something he wants to say to me, and I know that for a fact. He's always been one to beat around the bush with things, but I won't tell him that.

I decide to walk over to Zyan and hear what he has to say. I'm praying to the god I don't believe in it's something important. When I'm close enough to see his face, he looks like he may laugh.

"What's so funny pretty-boy?" it's probably weird to call another man pretty but he really is.

"He asked if you were a fag." his tone is teasing but my face grows pale and I want to be sick.

"Who asked that?" I already know but I need to be sure that it's him.

"who else? It was Harry." why would he ask about me and why would he ask that? Do I act like a fairy?

I'm hoping that Zyan can't see how much his words are affecting me but, damn, is it hard to hide the way I feel like I might puke.

I'm not a damn fag. I sleep with women.

When I don't immediately laugh it off, Zyan looks at me for a second before cracking up. His giggles fill the entire room and I'm embarrassed to be around a man who giggles like a little girl. People are sarting to look at us when I slap his arm for him to stop. His giggles turn into loud belly laughs that only draw more attention to us and I really want to punch him. But I won't.

His laughing is starting to die down but my frustration with him isn't. I don't know what's so funny about someone thinking I like dick. 

"Stop fucking laughing!" a couple heads turn in my direction. I don't mean to shout but he pisses me off!

He shuts his mouth quickly but I can see the smile breaking through his lips and I want to break his fucking nose. 

I can feel the veins popping out of my forehead while I think of all the ways I can kill Zayn.

Looking over at the door, I think about how poor I'd be if I quit right now. The answer is very poor. Curly walks through and must notice my pissed off state because he walks off in the other direction. 

His hips sway when he steps and I can't help but stare at the way his jeans hug his ass. I cute butt on a cute body. 

Even if I did like dick, which I don't, I don't need these assholes to know that. They don't need to know anything about my sex-life. They don't need to know how sex with women just doesn't interest me. They don't need to know that I have sex just to get off. They don't need to know anything.

In my state of thinking about curly, his ass and my sex life, I don't realize that Zyan has left. But Curly is still over by the prep-sink. And his ass is still on my mind.

To hell with me if I am gay. It's the 70's, so what if I fuck a dude? Everyone's trying everything and I'll be damned if they make me feel bad for trying something new.


	6. chapter 6

"You're not moving, you're just finding new places to hide."  
\- throam

I'm walking home when I see someone waiting by the front door. A man that's small in stature with slumped over shoulders. He reminds me of Brendon when he came over; defeated. Once I'm close enough to make out his face, I can see that it's Stan. I can see the way his eyes are rimmed red and his cheeks are streaked with tears.

Shit.

There are so many things I can tell this poor kid but the words don't come out. They stay trapped in my throat like the lump of tears that's stuck in his. i want to let him know that him having some fun isn't a bad thing and that hes not a bad person.

He stares at me before finally cracking and crying some more. The old tear streaks on his cheeks are being replaced with the new ones and the contents from his nose are starting to drip and pool onto his upper lip.

Before I can try to say something, his brows furrow into a frown while he says, "He told you?" his voice carries more shock than betrayal but the betrayal is still there.

"yeah, he did." his eyes go big and glossy while I go on, "But he was just scared and he didn't know what to do." I say, as if that's an excuse for him telling the damn world that his friend is an abnormality in society.

His silent tears turn into quite sobs that rack his body and there's nothing I can do besides awkwardly hold him. I don't know him and I don't know what I'm doing. I can feel him fisting the fabric of my shirt, probably something to keep him grounded. When I pull away, he grabs me tighter before forcing his fists to unclench from around my shirt. He looks at me with what I can only call desaturated hope.

"He came to my apartment, going on and on about how i

I'm disgusting. He said something's wrong with me." his throat is sore from crying, giving his voice a rough edge.

I give his shoulder a light squeeze before unlocking the door and inviting him inside.

"This is a nice place you got here, do you live here by yourself?" he doesn't sound miserable anymore but instead he sounds empty and I don't know which is worse.

I shake my head and lead him towards the couch with my hand on the small of his back. While we sit down, he stares me down before asking, "Do you think something's wrong with me?" yes, I truly do. But he doesn't need to hear that.

"No, I think you were born this way and it's useless to try and change." I don't even believe the words coming out of my mouth, but I met a gay kid at the bar once and he told me he wished someone would've told him something along the lines of that. I remember the way that kid out drank me every time I saw him and the way he stopped coming to the bar because he had hung himself. His name was Sam and he was my friend. He wasn't a good friend of mine, he was more of a 'bar-buddy'; I don't always notice that he's gone but whenever I'm drinking at the bar, I notice.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts when Stan starts moving closer to me, his hand raising to cup my cheek.

No. No, this isn't happening.

His hand feels rough against my face and I want to tell him to stop when he starts moving his face towards mine, but I don't. His lips meet mine and they're slick with spit and I want to push him off. But I don't. My hands find their way on his chest and I love how it feels against my hands. Firm and flat. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears and my fingers. I feel him lick my bottom lip and my mouth automatically opens.

I hate this. I hate this so much. But I don't want it to stop.

His scruff against my face is the thing I feel the most. Small stabs and prickles against my skin. It makes my breathing waver.

He pulls back with glazed over eyes and I can't tell if it's with lust or questions.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have." he's voice cracks and breaks, resembling the sound of a record scratching.

He's right. He shouldn't have done that and neither should I.

"I need you to leave." I'm not looking at him and my voice doesn't feel like it's my own, its hallow.

I don't want him here.


	7. chapter 7

I kicked him out last night. I mean, he left willingly considering what had happened.

He did look dejected though and to say that hurt would be an understatement.

While I walk to work, I think about Stan and how he kissed me. I keep telling myself that I didn't kiss back. I didn't. The people heading to their lives bustle past me and I swear, I can smell how hot it is outside.

Once I'm at the back door of the restaurant, I feel fine for a second and forget about stan as I walk in the door. Everything feels fine.

Harry is the one that sees me first. He walks over with long strides and a cigarette dangling from his lush lips.

Fuck it, he's cute. Even a straight man can admit that.

"Who pissed in your cornflakes, lou?" god, his voice is so fucking pretty and I hate him so much for it. Goddamnit, this is just a crush. A small, pathetic crush and I can get over this. Infact, it's not even a crush; it's curiosity and I'm just a horny person looking for something to fuck.

That's it. Nothing is wrong with me.

"Lou?" I want him to say my name again, just one more time.

And that's when it happens, everything is being seen in tunnel vision and slowly starting fade to black.

"Oh my God, lou!? Zayn, come here now!?" he should say my name more often.

My head slaps hard against the ground and my body goes limp but I'm still conscious.

Am I dying? Is this what's happening? Shit.

"Holy shit, Louis?" my eyes are closed but I can hear that it's Zayn.

My eyes open and now I feel cold all over.

I can't stop shaking and now Zayn is looking at me with worried eyes and pinched brows.

"Oh, Louis..." he looks at me like he's connected the dots, "Louis, you're having another panic attack."

Shit, I'd wish I was fucking dying instead.

Zayn's seen me like this one other time, and he took me to a doctor just for him to tell me I was having a panic attack. Wasted my fucking money.

Harry is the first to try and grab and I quickly push him off with tears running down my face while I shake uncontrollably.

Damn, I'm dying. I really think I'm dying.

I can't hear Harry now, all I hear is white noise.

"Babes, you need to come back. You are so strong and capable and I know you can pull through this. Babes, you are loved and very important." Zayn repeats those couple sentences over and over again.

Harry looks back and forth between Zayn and I, his brows pinched. "'Babes?'"

"I don't know what to do?! This is what I call my girlfriend when she gets like this—well, her panic attacks are different and a bit less terrifying to watch but still shitty."

"Oh..." harry is quite for a second, "does it work?"

"I mean, yeah."

That's when I decide to come back. "what happened?" I'm looking between Zayn and Harry.

Harry is the first to speak, "You had a panic attack."

I quickly stand and apologize before walking past the two through the swinging doors too the diner.

I don't have time for this shit. I need to get to work to get money so I can go home and drown myself in liquor and die.

And that's when I see him.

Stan, right there at the bar drinking a coffee with bags under his eyes.

I walk real close to him, trying to be inconspicuous, but he must know because his eyes go wide. "Louis, I-I didn't know-- I didn't know you worked here. I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. Just, don't tell anyone anything. Got that?" I didn't mean for it to sound like a threat but oh well.

"Lou?" please, God, don't tell me harry heard everything I said. "How are you feeling?"

Oh thank Jesus.

Wow, he's getting really close. "I'm doing okay. Thank you for caring." then he smiles and—oh no—im not straight. Shit.


	8. chapter 8

Maybe I am straight and I'm just confused.

No. I know better than to think that.

I'm serving a table full of rowdy women and men who can't keep their hands to themselves, which was all good and fine until one of the big burly men decided to say something I won't ever forget.

"You walk like a fucking fairy." everyone in earshot started laughing and I swear to all that is holy that my face started turning red as hell, and not from anger.

I laugh along with them and can feel my stomach starting to ache.

I keep laughing along until I make it to the serving window and see Liam.

"I need three cheeseburgers." when I start walking away, I quickly turn back around and make eye contact with Liam. "don't hold back the spit."

He gives me a look and then a nervous smile. "Okay."

I go through the swinging doors that lead to the back and quickly go to the big sinks, getting my hands wet and then my face.

Fucking dicks. I don't walk like a fairy; I walk like a man.

I can feel the tension in my body and everyone must be able to see it when I leave the back and go take more orders because no one, not a soul, gives me more shit.

I need a drink.

Stan is still here and he's drinking soda with a straw; how am I the fairy when he does shit like drink sodas with a straw.

🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

By the end of my shift, my anger's had time to brew and I'm seething.

Fuck it! I'm gonna go to a gay bar and figure out what I am.


	9. chapter 9

On my way home, I run into Harry on the bus. I wonder where he's going.

He smiles at me a toothy grin while I ask him, "Where are you headed?"

"I'm going out with a couple friends." he looks at my lips. Only for a second but he looks.

Now I stare at his lips for just a second too long. "where?"

"You wouldn't know it, " he stops and licks those fucking lips in a way that gets my blood pumping, "it's a gay bar."

OH.

He starts to laugh at the way my eyes go wide. "What's wrong? Never seen a gay man before?" it's sarcasm but it's littered with genuine questions and I don't want to tell him about Stan.

"No-- well, kinda, but not really." before I can shut my dumb fucking mouth, more comes out, "I just didn't know they could look so..." and I do it again; I look at his lips for just too long and I watch him pull his bottom lip between his teeth. Fuck.

"You can come with, if you want."

God, yes, I want. I want that so bad.

"Yeah, sure."

And then he did it again; smiled another heart stopping smile.

"We have to stop by my place so I can change." he looks at what I'm wearing with a quirked brow, "maybe we should stop by yours so you can change too?"

I can't stop staring at his fucking lips. And his eyes. Can't forget about his eyes.

"Can I just borrow something from you?" I sound so timid and scared but I'm just nervous.

"Of course, babes." He looks at me with hooded eyes and I don't even think he knows that he called me 'babes'. I don't mind him calling me that though.

"My stop is the next one." he's looking me up and down like he wants to eat me. Would I be opposed to him eating me? Wait, yes, I would. Eating people is gross.

"Okay." I swallow the lump in my throat and feel my body start to sweat.

I'm so screwed.

The bus comes to a stop after a couple more minutes of comfortable silence and everything feel warm in my chest when he grabs my hand to pull me up.

He gets close to my ear and whispers, "Come on, Lou." and I do. I move with him down the bus isle, discretely holding his hand.

I'd be lying if I said I haven't had feelings for men before but I always just ignored it. Until now; now, I'm holding another mans hand and going to a gay bar. I'm living my truth.

His place is just a few blocks from the bus stop and we make it there with minimal touching. He could probably tell how scared I was of someone seeing me, how scared I was of someone seeing me with a man. I wouldn't want someone to react the way Brendon did to Stan. I can't stand the idea of someone hating me for doing something that had nothing to do with them.

Harrys' apartment is on the bottom floor, so we don't have to walk up three flights of stairs. Thank God for the lack of stairs. He opens the door for me with one hand while the other rests on the small of my back.

"This! This is my humble abode." he throws his arm around my shoulders and I can feel the heat radiating off him. Damn, he smells kinda good. In fact, he smells really good. Like, vanilla and strawberries or some shit.

He pulls away all too fast with a simple, "I'll go get you something to change into." I doubt he'll have anything to fit me but I could make it work.

He walks out of his room with a bare chest and a shirt in his hand. "Here ya' go." he hands me the shirt and I don't know what to say besides a quiet, 'thanks'. I can't stop staring at his chest and cute little love handles. I want to touch him and I don't know how that makes me feel.

Just to see what he'll do, I take my shirt off right in front of him. When I look at him... he's not paying attention to me. Damn.

I slip on the dress shirt he handed me and attempt to button it up only to look like a fool and for harry to help me the rest of the way.

"Never button up a shirt before. Jesus, how did you fuck this up?" his tone is completely teasing and I can't help but smile at the dimple that shows up on his cheek. I'm a fool for tall men with dimples.

Of course I've buttoned a shirt before, just not in front of a man that makes my blood boil in the best way possible.

The shirt has a black base with flowers blooming all around. It's a unique and beautiful shirt. Not one that I'd see on a man but beautiful non the less.

He leaves for his room again and I stare at the way his jeans hug his bottom. Cute butt.

My feet move on their own accord and im stepping into the kitchen seeing all the organized spices on the counter, running my fingers against the red tops of a few spices. I liked the cool plastic feel against my warm fingers.

And that's when Harry came back from his room. He was dressed in a yellow button-up and white straight leg pants.

"I'm ready when you are." he gives me a soft smile and right before we leave through the front door, I roll the sleeves of my shirt up, so they don't bunch up around my wrists.

Then we leave.

🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 

We walk to the bar in relative silence and I can't tell if this one is comfortable or not. I can see the bar and before I know it, Stan and someone I don't know, run up to Harry. Stan is who I notice first and that's mostly because he attaches his lips to Harrys'.

And Harry kisses back.

Stan pulls back first and I can see the way his eyes shine when he looks at him. When he looks at Harry.

And harry stares at him with the same amount of shine and the same amount of, well, love.

The man whose name I don't know, starts eyeing me up and down with a quick, "Tsk, tsk."

Harry rolls his eyes at that and pulls me into his side.

"This is Louis and he's a bit shy so don't be a dick, Nick."

The man, Nick, smiles a small smile and I return it.

He's handsome but not like Harry or Stan.

He has an oval face and a gap between his front teeth. He's what I think about when I think of a social butterfly.

Harry clears his throat, "So, who's ready do get some drinks?"


	10. chapter 10 part 1

Once we're in the bar, I see men grinding against each other and I've never been more envious in my life.

Harry slaps Stan's ass and I watch Stan leap in surprise.

Why does God hate me?

Why would he make me gay and stuck with no chance of getting the dick that I want?

At least god gave me liquor.

I make my way to the bar and start chatting up the bartender. Why am I always friends with bartenders? He pours me a drink and slam it back within a few seconds. The lovely gentleman next to me must notice that I'm in a sour mood because he offers to pay for my next drink.

"What's your name, handsome?" he asks me with a quick touch on my arm.

"Sad and gay." Is all I say before I grab his hand and place it on my ass. "Now, do you want to get out of here?"

I've never been one to deny casual sex with women so, I guess I'm down with men too.


	11. chapter 10 part 2

We discussed all the details while walking into the bathroom, he prefers being the catcher and I prefer being the pitcher. He told me he was stretched out from earlier and that I shouldn't be too worried about hurting him. I'd be lying if I said I knew exactly what that meant but oh well, be won't get hurt; that sounds like a win to me.

He grabs my bicep and pushes me into one of the stalls while unzipping my pants and feeling up my cock to make me hard. My breathing is deep and rough. I grab his hand and push him up against the stall wall, kissing up his neck and feeling him lightly moan underneath me. I grab him and start to massage him through his pants until he's undeniably hard.

He starts unzipping his pants while I pull mine down with my boxers. He turns around and yanks his pants down in a quick fashion. I can't get a good look at his hole because he's standing with his ass only slightly perched out. But I know where to put my cock. I spit on my hands and start pumping myself with my spit before I slowly enter him.

He starts grunting when I thrust in slowly.

It's sloppy and fast as I reach around him and start jerking him off.

He comes with a low moan and I come a few trusts later.

He grabs some toilet paper and starts wiping up the cum that's slowly dripping down his legs. Once he's done wiping, he pulls his pants up and places a chaste kiss on my lips before leaving with the stall door open. I'm left with my cock hanging out, catching my breath.

I pull my pants up and leave the restroom quickly.

Everything was moving faster now.


End file.
